


Diversion

by minervamoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bar Room Brawl, F/M, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamoon/pseuds/minervamoon
Summary: “You have impeccable timing, angel,” whispered Crowley as one of his fingers twirled a lock of Aziraphale’s hair behind his ear.  “I need a diversion.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50
Collections: Name That Author Round Four





	Diversion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the GO-events Discord NTA Round 4

Aziraphale was elated to drop himself into a chair at the inn. His body was aching from the long ride and he was looking forward to getting a room and possibly even miracling himself a hot bath. What he had not been looking forward to was his lap being taken over by a light weight in skirts. Aziraphale bit back a sigh. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened; his fine clothes attracted this sort of attention. He was about to let the poor girl down gently when he recognized the long, slightly crooked nose, the yellow eyes hidden by dark glasses, the vulpine smile, and a cascade of red curls over one shoulder, baring one side of a long, graceful neck.

“Crowley?” husked Aziraphale, quite startled to have a lapful of demon coquettishly pressing his feminine endowments against his chest as he leaned in.

“You have impeccable timing, angel,” whispered Crowley as one of his fingers twirled a lock of Aziraphale’s hair behind his ear. “I need a diversion.”

“And why should I help you with whatever it is you’re doing?”

Before Crowley could answer, he was hauled roughly to his feet by a very large, callused hand. It made Crowley’s arm look fragile in its grasp. The owner of the hand was a large, gruff-looking man. Hired mercenary, was Aziraphale’s guess. A quick look behind the man showed a table with several more persons of similar ilk seated there with one man who was obviously the one who hired them. The puzzle pieces were falling into place.

“She’s ours,” growled the man holding Crowley’s arm. 

Aziraphale’s gaze turned back to Crowley. “Do I have to, dear?”

Crowley gave an aggravated sigh. “I’ll owe you one.”

“You still owe me from the last time,” sighed Aziraphale, still firmly in his chair.

The mercenary looked between the two of them, then snarled at Aziraphale. “I said she’s ours. Wait your turn!” At that, he tried to kick Aziraphale out of his chair. Aziraphale caught the man’s boot and grimaced at the mud and muck on it.

“You have absolutely no manners,” snapped Aziraphale, and with one small shove, he sent the man falling back into his cohorts. Unfortunately, the fool hadn’t let go of Crowley and dragged him down with him. Aziraphale was on his feet a second later, reaching out a hand to help Crowley up.

“You did that on purpose,” grumbled Crowley as he accepted the hand. Crowley’s hand felt light and delicate in his own.

“What have you got to complain about? I’m the one-” Aziraphale was cut off by one of the men getting to his feet and lunging at him. They grappled for several seconds as Crowley laughed, hands on his slim hips.

“This brings back memories,” said Crowley, a wide grin on his face.

“For the record,” sighed Aziraphale as he hefted the man over his shoulder and then dropped him hard, “I hate this diversion.”

**Author's Note:**

> This may get a sequel at some point, but for the time being this is a stand-alone ficlet.


End file.
